


The Challenge Of The Kiss

by elbowsinsidethedoor



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Kisses, M/M, Post-Voyage Home, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10025240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/pseuds/elbowsinsidethedoor
Summary: This is an old story of mine that I recently unearthed from the internet and tweaked for posting here. It was written in response to a challenge to begin a story with the words, "Kiss Me." Penned under a different name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It made me happy to write, to re-discover it and I hope others will enjoy it.

“Kiss me.”

“Captain, diversionary tactics do not lend strength to your position.”

The former admiral was savoring more than the subtle joys of debate. More than the warm glow of good wine. More than the pleasures of dining al fresco on a mild San Francisco evening. He was enjoying even more than the presence of a good friend. Before him stretched the prospect of active command of the starship he loved, in the company of a man he’d thought was lost to him forever. Kirk’s joy was irrepressible.

He felt freer than he ever had in the Vulcan’s company. He’d seen him reborn, a wanderer resurrected from the void. Spock had come back, the same, yet subtly altered. The man who’d stood at Kirk’s side as an officer and a friend was charged with new life. Kirk too, was changed. No longer an admiral, he was reborn from the death of losing command — from the ashes of mourning both his friend and the driving passion of his life.

The pair lingered on the terrace of one of the city’s finest restaurants, in view of the harbor. Idly watching the flow of passersby, Kirk’s eyes were drawn to two men, arms wound around each other, a young couple radiating the glow of lovers. He’d watched their progress for so long that Spock had turned to follow his gaze, to see what was drawing his attention.

When Spock looked back, Kirk was sipping his wine.

“Strange,” Kirk said, setting his glass down, “how the service lags behind popular culture. One more thing for me to deal with, I guess.”

“You are referring to StarFleet Regulation 3567, section D, Captain?” Spock cited one of the newest additions to StarFleet’s burgeoning regulation manual. Personnel profile guidelines intended to redress charges of both heterocentrism and Terrancentric discrimination.

“I’m referring to the quotas, Mr Spock.”

“Quotas? A characterization favored by the regulation’s opponents, Captain. You foresee a problem?” The Vulcan had raised an eyebrow in a gesture familiar to and beloved by Kirk.

“Not for me, personally, Spock. How people pair up is their own business. But there’s enough to worry about on a starship without having to categorize the crew’s sexual preferences.”

“I see,” Spock said, with such exquisite irony, that Kirk laughed.

“Mr Spock, I assure you, I am not homophobic. I’m anti needless regulation.”

“Indeed.”

The dry response, with its implied challenge, delighted Kirk, who thought, indeed, my ass, Mr Spock!

“You sound … unconvinced, my friend.” Kirk warmed to the discussion. Verbal play with Spock, whatever its focus, was a pleasure of many year’s standing. He gazed at the handsome face of his First Officer, relishing his existence, the mere opportunity to be thus engaged. Spock’s face, once care-worn, time-worn, looked younger to Kirk since their return from Earth of the past; animated by new warmth. Gazing at him against the backdrop of the waterfront promenade, Kirk thought he’d never seen him look more relaxed or compelling.

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Spock suggested, “given your background and orientation, that your position is entirely free of homophobic components. I am quite confident, however,” he added, “that it is well within the range of your abilities to compensate.”

Kirk smiled even as he felt the sting.

“Compensate, Spock? I suspect that with your background and orientation, you’ll be doing your share of compensating. I look forward to seeing how comfortable you are officiating at a same sex wedding in the ship’s chapel.” Allowing himself the vaguest of mischievous smiles, Kirk raised his wine glass and sipped, watching Spock across its delicate rim.

“Captain, such a ceremony would accord in flavor, if not substance, with Vulcan tradition. You seem to be unaware of the fact that same sex bonding has existed, time immemorial, on my home world.” He continued, with the slightest inclination of his head. “I believe you have demonstrated by your comment, a certain crude and stereotypic view of Vulcans, in addition to further demonstrating your heterocentric orientation. Of course, as a matter of discussion, between friends, I take no offense.”

“What?!” Kirk laughed. “Are you accusing me of centrism and chauvinism at the same time?”

Both Vulcan eyebrows lifted in silent, bemused assent. Kirk’s fine brows drew together in a frown.

“Not so fast, my friend. Those are low blows. I can prove that I’m not a centrist or a chauvinist,” he said, casually lifting his glass. He hoped Spock would bite and then they would see who had to compensate.

“By all means,” Spock said.

“Kiss me,” Kirk said, with a barely suppressed grin, eyes brimming with challenge.

“Captain,” Spock said, “diversionary tactics do not lend strength to your position.“

“Not a diversion, Spock! A demonstration. I insist.” He leaned forward with his arms on the table, cocking his head at a jaunty angle, beaming at the Vulcan with barely contained glee. “Go ahead,” he urged, thinking — this is too easy. Spock can’t kiss me and he can’t deny that my willingness to have one planted on me, in front of God, country, and assorted strangers, by a Vulcan officer, proves my point!

He locked his eyes on his friend’s, seeing amusement in the Vulcan’s expression, knowing the face well enough to read its subtleties. He knew he’d engaged and intrigued Spock; he could feel the dark eyes taking him in. He isn’t saying it, Kirk thought, but I can hear him thinking it … he finds this … fascinating.

“If you insist, Captain,” Spock said.

Kirk’s heart rate skyrocketed so fast that a heat flush rose up into his face as Spock’s hand touched the side of his neck, a firm curving grasp, holding him in place. The Vulcan’s thumb stroked his jaw. The jubilant moment of daring hung suspended in the pounding of Kirk’s heart. The exotic, yet familiar face, bent calmly toward his in seeming slow-motion. Spock traversed the space between them with stunning liquid ease. Lips, unbelievably warm, covered Kirk’s whose were parted in surprise.

Spock’s lips radiated the heat of his Vulcan physiognomy; broad, firm, so unlike a woman’s it was as if Kirk had never been kissed. Spock’s lips barely hinted at parting, pressed in sensuous movement and Kirk’s were pliant in response. He absorbed the scent of Spock’s skin, tantalizing hints of something akin to cinnamon bark and musk. The desire for Spock’s mouth to open swept through him. The Vulcan was drawing away and Kirk’s mind cried, not yet, in search of words he could speak out loud. He found only the name.

“Spock,” he uttered with quiet astonishment. His lips, still vibrantly warmed by the kiss, curved slowly into a smile. “That was … extraordinary.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Spock said, sitting back, but not far. “A kiss,” he indicated, closing his fingers around Kirk’s wrist, raising it from the table.

“Of course, Mr Spock.” Kirk’s realization dawned. A Vulcan kiss, no less! His friend seemed calm but he was looking at him intently. Spock’s hand around his wrist sent a tingling up Kirk’s arm. Shivers skittered through nerve endings from his head to toes. The Vulcan’s fingertips touched his pulse, caressed the heel of his palm. It felt so …. good. Kirk’s eyes shut as the arousal flooded him and opened again, in wonder.

Spock’s intensity of attention awed him. His First Officer’s face was captivating, beautiful. His mouth. Kirk could still feel it on his. His gaze fell to the long, sensitive fingers now slowly stroking upward along the undersides of his. A meld, Spock? How could such simple touching produce the erotic warmth suffusing him. Kirk cleared his throat as Spock released him, laying his hand on the table gently.

“Vulcans do this,” Kirk found his voice, “in public?”

“Gentlemen,” their waiter interrupted, with gentle remonstrance, “if there’s nothing further you require, we do have patrons waiting.”

“Ah, thank you, no,” Kirk said, torn from his haze. He met the waiter’s patently amused eyes. “I think we’re done.” He felt himself blush as he spoke, but smiled. “Thank you.”

As the young man left, Kirk turned to his companion, slightly exasperated to find him relaxed, unperturbed, but somehow glowing.

“Satisfied, Spock? I believe I proved my point well enough to get us thrown out.”

“Your demonstration was very persuasive, Captain,” he conceded.

“Well then,” Kirk said, rising from his seat, “the least you can do is walk me home.” He straightened his tunic, blessing its adequate cover. “I’m pretty damn sure you owe me that much.” He shot his friend a look that was undeniably flirtatious. Shameless, James, he scolded himself.

“It would please me to do so.” 

The night, which had shone with myriad reasons for happiness, now sparkled with a new, unanticipated pleasure.

Kirk mused as he led his friend out of the restaurant, things happen in their own time, their own way. This never could have happened before. Why? We’re not the people we were.

Spock was falling into step beside him on the sidewalk. An image rose in Kirk’s mind of the couple he’d watched earlier, the men who’d unwittingly inspired what he was feeling now. How would it feel to walk down a street holding Spock’s arm, his hand? His hand is right there, he thought. Kirk’s eyes were drawn to it. He’d always admired Spock’s dexterity, the grace of his slender fingers, but now the hand appeared erotically beautiful. He still felt traces of the Vulcan kiss lingering in his body. The ten minute walk that lay ahead suddenly struck him as endless but the night beyond it, filled with promise.


End file.
